


Lay Awake Until The Morning Light

by asterlark



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Fake AH-Typical Violence, Guns, Insomnia, Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterlark/pseuds/asterlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Gavin both have trouble sleeping at night because of the nature of the job, so they keep each other company through texts. Until one night when Gavin does what Gavin does best - getting himself in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Awake Until The Morning Light

When Ryan receives a phone call from Gavin at four a.m., he’s not _sleeping_ , but he also would rather not get up from his blanket cocoon. He’s currently in a Wikipedia spiral- reading about the Paleolithic era- and would like to not be interrupted, thank you very much.

He laments even giving Gavin his personal number, to be honest. But after the fourteenth time Gavin had knocked on his apartment window at three a.m., waving sheepishly from the fire escape (Ryan still isn’t 100% sure how he even gets up there, the apartment’s on the tenth floor), he’d decided it would be less inconvenient to just give the asshole the number to his personal cell. It’s not like he’s ever sleeping at that time of night anyway.

“You’re the only one who has this besides Geoff,” Ryan had told him when he’d put it into Gavin’s phone. “So don’t abuse the privilege.” 

Gavin had nodded seriously. “I won’t, Rye-bread, sir.”

They both knew that was a fucking lie. It’s just not how Gavin operates.

It did kind of help, in a weird way. This way he knew he wasn’t the only one awake at three-thirty, staring at the ceiling because if he closed his eyes, all he’d see is a thousand images flashing at once, blood and fire and the crack of a gunshot. It helped when Gavin texted him what-if scenarios, trying to start an argument they’d both just end up laughing over. It helped when he sent him little videos of himself describing what the cracks in his ceiling could mean, like he was watching clouds or something. It helped when he texted him pictures of what weird late-night snacks he was eating- some of the greats include bagels dipped in pudding, caramel dip straight out of the jar, and peanut butter-banana-honey-nutella sandwiches.

They’d never called each other before. It had seemed too personal, too intimate. But now, with Gavin’s number lighting up his phone at four a.m… He can’t exactly _decline_ it.

Ryan picks up and hesitantly asks, “Gav?”

“Hey, I, um-” He’s out of breath, Ryan can tell. And he sounds scared.

“I need help, I, uh- I got bored so I went out, and some twat from some rival gang saw me and he has _lots of friends_ and I’m not even packing so long story short my ankle’s broken and I’m currently hiding in the bathroom of a 7/11.”

Ryan’s already up, already putting on jeans and shoes, grabbing his leather jacket and mask, when he hears that last part. “Do they know you’re in there?”

“No, I’ve lost them for the time being- but they’re not dumb, they’ll find me. Bloody buggering _fuck_ , I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot-”

Ryan puts the phone between his shoulder and ear while he checks the magazines of the two pistols he’s bringing. “Dude, not your fault. You didn’t start anything, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He hears Gavin let out a breath. “Yeah. Thanks. Are you-”

“I’m on my way,” Ryan replies, slipping on the mask as he locks his apartment behind him and bolts down the stairs. His bike’ll be faster than anything else right now, so he quickly gets it out of the garage and starts down the street.

“Which 7/11?” he asks, one hand on the handlebar and the other on the phone. It’s a dangerous maneuver, but he’s been riding this thing long enough to have a good sense of balance.

There’s silence on the other side of the line, and unease bubbles at the bottom of his gut. “Gavin?”

He hears a strangled shout and a lot of muffled noise, and then- “Say goodbye to your little boyfriend, Vagabond.”

“Don’t fucking _touch_ him,” he growls in response, but the phone has already been hung up. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_.

He turns on the police scanner, fear gnawing at the back of his mind. Then he hears it- “ _217 in progress, 11th and Market outside the 7/11, 187 on the clerk, please respond, 11th and Market-_ ”

11th is only a few blocks away so Ryan guns it, knowing _217_ means that at any moment Gavin could be shot. How did his fucking night turn into this, and why is it _always_ Gavin?

When he arrives in the parking lot, he sees a small crowd of people against the wall of the convenience store, all making some level of noise. He catches Gavin’s blond mop of hair near the front, and he’s still standing, somehow, even with six or seven men beating up on him. Ryan feels a mixture of surprise and pride at that; Gavin is small and easily underestimated, even by his own crew sometimes, but one thing he’s not is a coward. He’s fierce, and he won't go down without a fight.

Ryan jumps off his bike and gets the rival gang’s attention by firing a shot into the air. They all whip around, the shock on their faces turning to anger quickly. He finds Gavin’s face in the crowd of men, and his eyes are wide as he wipes blood from his nose.

“Give it up, Vagabond,” the seeming leader of the gang spits, and Ryan immediately recognizes his voice from the phone a minute ago. “We’re taking out this little nuisance whether you like it or not.”

He spots a gun in the man’s hand as well as in most of the other gang members’, and wonders if he’ll be fast enough to take all of them out before they can get a shot in. 

“I’ll take my chances,” he sneers from behind the mask, playing up the ruthless mercenary act. He sees a few of the gang members shake in their boots a bit, and grins.

The leader of the gang snarls angrily and steps forward, earning a bullet between the eyes from Ryan. No remorse; the guy was an asshole. And before the rest of the gang can react, he shoots three more of them in record time, leaving only three gang members left. _Still got it_ , he smirks to himself.

But Gavin was right, these guys aren’t stupid. One of them grabs Gavin and traps him in a chokehold, putting a gun to his neck. 

“Drop the gun,” he shouts, and the other gang member both still alive and with a gun points it at Ryan.

“Okay, easy,” he says, leaning down slowly. He meets Gavin’s eyes, which only look vaguely scared- he may not be in the field as often as the rest of the crew, but he knows how to escape a chokehold, and he knows Ryan knows that. When his hand is only a foot away from the ground, he nods at Gavin. And then a lot of things happen in a short amount of time.

Gavin grabs the gun against his neck and twists, hard, escaping the gang member’s arms while still holding onto the gun, and when he’s done twisting around, the gun has come to rest on the other man’s chest. He looks bewildered, and Gavin smirks as he smacks the butt of the gun against the man’s nose and kicks him in the stomach in quick succession. When he’s on the ground he shoots him in the skull with the stolen gun, grimacing at the blood spatter.

The other armed gang member has fast reflexes and fires, clipping Ryan in the shoulder, causing him to go from his crouched position to on the ground. It hurts, but in the grand scheme of things it’s barely a cat scratch, so he’ll take it. Ryan shoots back quickly, getting the other man first in the shoulder- fuck- and then stands to get better aim, this time shooting him in the head.

They’re left with one more gang member, who appears to be shitting himself right about now. He raises his arms and says, shakily, “Don’t shoot me, I’m unarmed, I’ll just-”

“Anyone left from your crew?” Ryan growls, walking over slowly until he’s towering over the man.

He nods, sweat dripping down his forehead. “About fifteen more.”

“How ‘bout you go tell them their beef with the Fake AH Crew is done. They fuck with us again, well…” He glances pointedly around at all the dead bodies in the parking lot. 

“You get the picture,” he smirks, and the man’s eyes widen. “We’re sparing you for a reason, got it?”

The man nods furiously. “I got it, I’ll tell them, I promise-”

“Get out of my sight,” Ryan says disdainfully, shoving him in the opposite direction. He starts running and Ryan lets out a laugh. How that shrimp is allowed to be in a gang, he’ll never know.

He turns around to face Gavin and properly sees him for the first time, sees all his injuries. It’s really not terrible, just a broken nose and some dark bruises on top of his already broken ankle, but because it’s Gavin, he manages to look really pathetic.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ryan huffs upon seeing his puppy eyes, “Get on the bike, I’ll take you back to my place and fix you up.”

Gavin perks up immediately. “Really? Your actual, real apartment? Where you live and sleep and stuff?”

Ryan groans internally and externally. He already regrets this.

“I already regret this,” he says, and Gavin pouts.

“It’ll be fun! I can make you tea!” he replies excitedly, and Ryan laughs. 

“You can’t even walk,” he says, supporting Gavin as he limps over to Ryan’s motorcycle.

“Walk, shmalk,” Gavin snarks, but he still sucks in air through his teeth when his bad ankle bumps against the bike.

Ryan climbs on and supports Gavin as he gets his leg over the seat. “Okay, hold onto my waist,” he says, nearly laughing at the look on Gavin’s face.

“What?” he replies in a shocked voice.

“I don’t want you falling off the back and caving your skull in after I just rescued you, do I?” Ryan smirks.

Gavin’s mouth opens and closes like a guppy, but he eventually relents and wraps his arms around Ryan’s middle. Ryan pointedly ignores how nice it feels, how heat radiates from Gavin’s touch and makes him feel a bit breathless. He’s the goddamn Vagabond, and he’s in control. No one makes him feel breathless if he doesn’t want them to.

(So if on the way to his apartment, when Gavin rests his head against Ryan’s shoulder, he kinda feels like he’s about to pass out? So what. He got shot. -Ish. He’s probably woozy from blood loss, or something.)

When they get back and are safe and sound inside, Gavin sits down on the threadbare couch while Ryan fetches his first aid kit. His apartment isn’t much, just one bedroom and a barely-decorated living room with a shitty couch and a TV connected to an Xbox. He doesn’t have much of a life outside of the crew, so he dedicates his spare time to being terrible at video games. He still doesn’t know how he manages to be a worse shot in a _fucking game_ than in real life.

When he comes back into the living room, kit in hand, Gavin has figured out Ryan’s TV and is watching some bad romance movie.

Ryan smirks. “Romance fan?” he asks, laughing as Gavin’s head whips around.

“Nah, I like heckling,” he replies, throwing a piece of lint from the couch at the TV screen as the couple professes their love. “Booo, get better dialogue.”

“Okay, let’s take a look at you,” Ryan says, sitting close to Gavin on the couch and purposely ignoring how warm he is. He studies Gavin’s face, especially his nose- if it’s displaced he’ll need to see Caleb for it. He touches the sides and the bridge of his nose as gently as he can, making a sympathetic face when Gavin winces. 

“It’ll heal fine, just as ugly as ever,” Ryan remarks, and Gavin sticks his tongue out.

“Arse,” he says, but he can’t hide his wide grin. 

“How’s the ankle?” he asks, and Gavin looks down at it.

“Still hurts like a bitch, and now it looks like it’s swollen,” he frowns.

“Yeah, I doubt you’ll need to go under the knife or anything but you’ll probably need a cast while it heals.”

Gavin sighs. “Great, I’m gonna have to stay out of the field for, like, a month. Maybe two.” He puts his head in his hands. “I’m such an idiot, I should’ve just stayed home, I was just… restless. I dunno.”

Ryan nods even though Gavin can’t see him. “It sucks, but you’re not an idiot for going out. That gang, they’re the idiots.”

Gavin looks up from his hands. “Yeah, I guess. Still feel like I broke the damn thing for nothing.”

Ryan shrugs. “Who doesn’t want a vacation? You can sit on your ass for a few weeks, doing all the tech shit.”

“But you know me, I don’t _like_ sitting on my ass,” Gavin whines, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna go absolutely _mad_ , Rye.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “Here, lemme clean up your face.”

Gavin has a few bruises on his jaw, blood from his nose, and some decent scrapes here and there. Ryan takes an alcohol wipe to his face, laughing when Gavin makes a sour expression.

“C’mon, you could’ve just used a rag,” he says, squirming away from the wipe. “Just being a dick, now.”

“I like to see you suffer,” Ryan laughs. “C’mere.”

Gavin relents and lets Ryan treat his face. He wipes the scrapes gently, trying not to make anything hurt more than it already does. Once he’s done Gavin looks good as new, albeit the bruises and slightly swollen nose.

“Thanks,” Gavin says, quietly, sincerely. He lays his hand softly on Ryan’s shoulder, but manages to touch right where the bullet clipped him. Pain sparks up Ryan’s arm and he flinches away, and that’s when Gavin notices his hand has come away bloody.

“Ryan, you’re hurt,” he says, eyes wide. 

“It’s nothing, just a scrape,” Ryan replies quickly, but now that the adrenaline has worn off it really does sting.

“Bullshit, take your shirt off,” Gavin demands, getting out the antiseptic and a bandage from the kit.

Ryan hesitates for only a moment- this is medical, after all, why should he be nervous about taking off his shirt- and slips the fabric over his head, dropping it to the floor. He can sense the nervous energy coming from Gavin, too, and it seems they’re both pretty damn determined to not mention it, so that makes Ryan feel a bit better.

Gavin dabs the area with antiseptic, and it burns like a motherfucker, but Ryan has experienced pain enough in his life that he can swallow his reaction. 

Once he’s done, Gavin looks around, irritated. “There’s nothing to bloody- press it down with,” he says.

Ryan grabs his shirt from the floor and offers it up. Gavin rolls his eyes, but grabs it from Ryan’s hand. “It’ll do,” he replies, holding it to the wound. After a minute or two he affixes a bandage to the wound, but he continues to put pressure on it with the shirt so it’ll stop bleeding faster.

They’re very close, Ryan realizes now. Their legs are pressed up against each other, and Gavin has one hand putting pressure on his wound and the other on his leg to steady himself. It feels really hot in this apartment, suddenly, in a nice-but-bordering-on-uncomfortable way.

Gavin’s focusing on Ryan’s shoulder so intensely it almost feels artificial, like he’s not letting his eyes wander anywhere else. Ryan studies the younger man’s face while he can, like this, uninterrupted with no distractions. 

Even roughed up, Gavin’s gorgeous. His bottle-blond hair really does suit him; it makes the jade green of his eyes pop. He has naturally tanned skin from whatever mysterious lineage he’s from- Greek, maybe, or Italian- anyway, Ryan’s jealous of it. He’s always been pale, and he burns instead of tans. But Gavin, Gavin is tan, and his lips are full and pink, and he has just the right amount of scruff on his cheeks and Jesus _Christ_ , when did Ryan start becoming mesmerized by his jawline?

When Gavin finally looks up, Ryan’s still staring, and he might’ve blushed if he thought he was capable of doing such a thing. They’re both overheated and a little breathless, and Ryan can’t stop looking at Gavin’s lips, and he doesn’t know how it happened but their faces are so close and they’re _kissing_ , slotting their lips together so perfectly. It feels both endless and too short, perfect and warm and wet, just the right amount of everything. 

They pull away panting, both a bit freaked out.

“Did we just-”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “We don’t have to, like, tell anyone-”

“Might be best,” Gavin says. “I…”

“Yeah?” Ryan breathes, and their faces are still so close, their bodies still pressed against each other, and he is very aware of his skin right now, especially where it touches Gavin’s.

“I liked that a lot,” Gavin says in a small voice. “So much it kinda scares me.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Ryan replies softly. “It can be a one-time thing, if that’s- if that’s what you want.”

“I want it to be something,” Gavin says, voice barely a whisper. “That’s what’s scary.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, and his stomach feels so light and fluttery, like it gets before a heist sometimes. Is this what liking someone feels like?

He notices that the TV is still on, now playing early morning news. He doesn’t even know the time; he’s been up this whole night without a moment of sleep, and he’s starting to feel it. He checks his watch and groans internally when it reads _6:12 am_.

“We can, um. Figure everything out. I promise,” he says, and Gavin breathes out, nodding. “But right now it’s really late- early, actually, I guess. And we should probably sleep at least a few hours.”

He feels the weight of that word, that “ _we_ ”, and he knows Gavin notices it, too. But there’s no way he’d make Gavin go home to sleep right now, not after… everything.

Gavin would need help to move anywhere, and sleeping together in Ryan’s bed so soon would just be weird, so they settle in together on the shitty couch, tangling limbs and evening out breaths. They’re both exhausted after everything, so it doesn’t take long to settle into a comfortable silence. 

Ryan’s half-asleep when Gavin presses his lips to the back of his neck and says softly, “Thanks, Rye.”

“For what,” he replies, sleepily, about to drift off.

“You know,” Gavin says.

And yeah. He does.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the death of me by city and colour! go reblog this on tumblr/check out my other writing if you want! (asterlark.tumblr.com) thanks for reading :)


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